


Forgiveness

by TheKatlocker (TheKat79)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Sherlock (TV) Season/Series 04 Fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKat79/pseuds/TheKatlocker
Summary: What would have happened if Sherlock would have woken up in Culverton Smith's hospital before John left the room?Let's find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had trouble writing over the last few months and always wondered why. I found out a few days ago. Apparently I have to be in a bad/sad mood to get some inspiration, things were simply going too well lately...  
> This story will have a happy ending anyway, so no worries.   
> Chapter 2 of this little fic is completely written, it just needs a bit of editing, so you can expect it later this week.

He looked so tiny, lying in this bed. He looked vulnerable, as vulnerable as John had ever seen him.  
All the blue shades around him made him look even paler than normal. His eyes were closed and almost translucent, arms lying limply beside his torso.   
If it wasn't for the heart monitor beeping silently, in a somehow soothing manner, John could almost imagine that he was just sleeping peacefully. Only he wasn't. He was hurt, badly injured.   
And it was John's fault. John was the one who had put him there. John was the one who had nearly beat him to death. In a blinding rage so fundamental that John was horrified by himself.

Tears were burning hot behind his eyes, threatening to spill over any second now, but John didn`t let them. He wasn`t worthy of his own tears.  
He had honestly thought Sherlock had deserved all this. He thought it had all been Sherlock`s fault.   
Her death, his own misfortune, his sorrow. Everything that had gone wrong in John's life since Sherlock jumped off the roof of Bart's bloody hospital.   
But it wasn`t, was it? It really wasn`t Sherlock`s fault. In the end, it was all John`s own fault.  
He was the one who wasn`t able to draw the line. To decide between him and her. Her or him. He should have decided long ago. On that ice-cold day in November, almost two years ago, when Sherlock Holmes had come back from the dead. When Sherlock appeared out of thin air in this bloody restaurant, right in that minute when John wanted to propose. This was the clue John had missed. This would have been his way out. Out of a relationship he had never really wanted. Out of a future he had never craved. Back to the life they had lived before the fall.   
Only it wouldn`t have been enough, would it? John didn`t want to go back to things like they had been before. It wouldn`t have been enough. He wanted more, so much more. He wanted everything.   
It had taken John nearly a year after Sherlock`s death, to recognize what it was that he really wanted. That he wanted anything and everything.  
And that wasn`t quite true either. He had known all along. He just never had the balls to admit it, to himself and to Sherlock and to all the people around them who knew that they were meant to be together as soon as they laid eyes on them.  
They had all known. The woman, Mrs Hudson, the Yarders. Each and every one of John`s numerous girlfriends. People on the streets they had never met before. Everyone had known. And Sherlock bloody Holmes, Mr. Punchline himself, had never corrected them. Not once.  
It was always John. John who couldn`t stand the thought that people might think he was in a relationship with a man.  
Now, looking back, he didn`t know what he had been afraid of back then. Sherlock Holmes was the most brilliant and extraordinary man he had ever known. John had even told him so, numerous times. He was the most beautiful man John had ever seen, too.   
It would have been an honour. People assuming that they were together. People assuming that a man like Sherlock Holmes would want a broken man like John.

Would Sherlock have wanted it? Back then? Would he want it now?   
But no, it was too late. Maybe there would have been a chance for them, long ago, before the fall quite certainly. Before the marriage, maybe, even after Mary's death there might have been a chance. But now, after what John had done to him today?

John needed to leave and he needed to do it now. He needed to leave his cane at Sherlock`s bedside and leave this man forever. Because Sherlock Holmes didn`t deserve what John had done to him. He deserved love and happiness. Sherlock deserved someone that treasured him, because that`s what he was, a treasure. And John had nearly destroyed him, had almost killed him. God!

John's hands clenched around the railing at the foot of Sherlock's hospital bed so hard that his knuckles went white. There was a single tear spilling over because John didn`t have the strength to hold it back any longer. He wanted to apologize, for everything he had ever done wrong. For hurting Sherlock, for calling him a machine, for not believing in him, at least not strong enough. For putting him in this very bed, but it was too late. What had happened today? There were no words in this world that could ever make up for what John had done to his best friend.  
He needed to go now, because there was no way John would ever leave this room when Sherlock woke up and looked him in the eyes.   
Sherlock was like a drug, one that was specifically designed for John and John alone. John had barely managed to stay away from him when he didn't see him every day, but leaving Sherlock like this when he looked at John with those mesmerizing eyes? Impossible. 

John looked down at his own hands, still clenched around the railing and his fingers felt numb. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, once, twice, squeezed his hands even harder around the metal that had warmed under his touch. His fingers were hurting now, so he opened his eyes and managed to pry them loose with great effort.   
John took the cane that was leaning against the foot of the bed and walked around to Sherlock`s side. Slowly, so slowly, prolonging the inevitable as long as possible. John looked at him one more time, those curls he had always wanted to touch, those beautiful violinists hands, those eyes he could get lost in if only he had gotten the chance.   
John leaned the cane against the chair beside the bed. A gesture, a reminder, a thank you and goodbye. An 'I've learned to walk without you. I'll manage on my own now, so don't worry about me any longer.' 

“I`m sorry, Sherlock,” he whispered. Then John turned around, closed his eyes briefly to compose himself and walked to the door, hand reaching for the handle to leave the best that had ever happened to him behind and never come back.

“John.” A hint of a whisper, nearly inaudible, but John heard it anyway and froze.  
“Sherlock,” John whispered, head dropping to his chest. He closed his eyes and inhaled, held his breath for a few seconds, let it go. “I have to go.”  
Silence behind him, for five seconds, six, seven, then: “Don`t.” In a trembling voice so tiny, it broke John`s heart.   
John looked up at the ceiling and tried to calm his now racing heart.  
“Please, John,” Sherlock whispered and that gave John the strength to turn around and face him.  
Sherlock looked even more vulnerable than before, one eye black and swollen, a cut at his left eyebrow. Sherlock`s eyes were pleading and they were beautiful and so, so blue and nearly glowing in the strange light of the hospital room, despite the broken bloodcells that mad his left eye look almost black. John`s lips pressed together on their own volition. He wanted to talk, but his mouth refused to open and anyway, his heart was in his throat and wouldn`t let a single sound through his windpipe.  
“I`m sorry, John,” Sherlock whispered. “I`m so sorry.” Sherlock`s voice was urgent now, but still so weak.  
It took John a few seconds to register the words Sherlock had said and when he did, he couldn`t believe what they were saying. Sherlock was apologizing to _him_ , the man who had beat him to a pulp.   
“What?”  
“Please, forgive me, John.” Sherlock was pleading now and there were tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over. John`s own tears started falling now and he felt them hot and wet on his cheeks. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, but couldn't be more than ten seconds, really. Sherlock's brows furrowed.   
“You`re crying," he stated, voice a bit stronger now.  
“Yeah,” John nearly gasped.  
“Why?” Sherlock looked curious. Actually curious.  
“Why? God, Sherlock, why am I crying? Seriously?”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, tilted his head a little. He really didn`t understand.  
“Because… Sherlock.. because I did THIS to you!” John opened his arms helplessly, feeling exasperated.   
“John, you had every right…”  
“No Sherlock, stop it, stop it right there. I had absolutely no right to lay a hand on you.”  
“But I killed your wife.” The pleading tone was back in his voice.  
John stared at him and his heart clenched in his chest so hard it actually hurt.   
“No,“ he said fiercely, ”you didn`t.”  
John stepped carefully closer, until his thighs met the edge of the hospital bed.  
“Listen, Sherlock.” John took a deep breath. The things he wanted to say, needed to say, were going to be the hardest he ever had and they didn`t come easily.  
“I hurt you… I…,” another deep breath before he continued, whispering, “…I nearly killed you today.” John wasn`t able to meet Sherlock`s eyes, but he could feel the full attention from the man in front of him so he soldiered on.  
“There are no words that could tell you how sorry I am. There`s nothing I can do to make this undone.”  
“John.”  
“No, Sherlock, please, let me say this.” John still refused to look into Sherlock`s eyes, because he would never be able to say those next words, if he would look into those ever changing eyes.  
“There is only one thing that I can do, Sherlock. I`m going to leave. I`m going to take myself out of your life and never come back, because that`s the only way to keep you safe from me.” A little whimper escaped John`s throat and there was another single tear rolling down his cheek, but he needed to finish this.  
“You`ve been my best friend since the day we met. You've saved my life, more than once and in more than one way. And now I`m going to save yours.”  
John stood there beside Sherlock's bed, staring into thin air. His blood was rushing in his ears so loud that it overlayed everything else. He tried to get up the strength to turn around and leave Sherlock behind for the last time in his life when suddenly there was warmth against his fingertips and then he felt Sherlock`s hand slide into his own, holding onto him carefully.   
John looked down at their joined hands incredulously. They had never done this before, well not when they weren't chained together by handcuffs.   
Sherlock`s hand felt warm in his and it felt right. Completely right.   
John took a deep breath before he gathered the strength to look up into Sherlock`s eyes and his chest clenched once again. Sherlock was crying silent tears and he was shaking his head slowly.  
“No, John,” he whispered, “don`t do this to me. I don't want to live without you. I've had that long enough and I didn't like it.”  
“But I can't just stay and risk hurting you again, Sherlock.”  
“You won't.”  
“How do you know that? What about the next time you piss me off? What about the next time I've had enough and just snap?”  
“You won't,” Sherlock said again and squeezed John's hand harder. And then something shifted in Sherlock's gaze. There was something so vulnerable in it, but there was more. There was understanding and forgiveness and something else, something John didn't catch right away.   
John stared into Sherlock's eyes for a long time, trying to find out what it was that he couldn't grasp until he felt Sherlock's thumb stroking the back of his hand carefully and then it hit him like a bus.   
It was love. 

Sherlock looked at him like a man who was deeply and utterly in love.   
John's brows furrowed and he felt tears pickling in his eyes for the third time that night. That was impossible. How could Sherlock love him when he had just beat him to a pulp? How could he have feelings for him after everything John had done to him?   
John took a step back and then another until Sherlock's hand slipped out of his own and he saw Sherlock's gaze shifting from understanding and forgiveness and love to irritation and then hurt and then desperation. Sherlock's tears started falling again about two seconds before John's did.   
“I'm sorry,” John whispered before he turned around to leave the room.


	2. Chapter 2

John heard the door shut closed behind him. His chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. He started walking down the corridor, away from Sherlock, faster, faster, until his feet were almost running. He rushed around a corner, almost colliding with a nurse carrying a metal tray full of little cups with medication in her hands. John rushed through another corridor and down the staircase, straight through the entrance hall and out of the hospital. He walked down the street, around the next corner, down another street and another. John had no idea where he was going, if he was walking in circles or just straight away from the hospital, from Sherlock. He just knew that he needed to get as far away as possible. He needed to breathe, he needed to think. 

John walked and walked and in between he even ran until his lungs hurt and he had to slow down again. He passed busy streets and dark side alleys and at last he walked through a little park that was barely lit at that time of the night, until he reached the bank of the Thames. There was a stony balustrade right in front of him and John leaned heavily against it, staring down into the water twenty feet below. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, blood rushing through his veins and in his ears. He didn't notice anything around him. He didn't know if there were other people around or if he was the only one in the world. He didn't recall if there was a busy street behind him or if he had never left that tranquil park, he couldn't even remember if it was night or day.  
He just stared blankly into the dark water below him as if it held all the answers and he simply needed to look hard enough to find them. 

Sherlock loved him. Sherlock... loved him.  
John had seen it in his eyes, plain as day. It had been written all over his face.  
How was that even possible? Why had he never seen it before? How long had Sherlock been in love with him and never said a word?  
John tried to rack his brain around the thought that Sherlock might just have hidden the same feelings as himself and had never let John see.  
Now that John thought about it, he had seen hints of that look on Sherlock's face numerous times over the past years. There was one time he remembered as if it had been yesterday. After Sherlock had come back from the dead and John had punched him three times over the course of an evening. He had left him standing with his nose bleeding in front of a shabby diner. When John sat in that taxi pretending he was ignoring Sherlock. That's when he had seen that look for the first time. Back then he had thought it was just Sherlock's injured pride because John hadn't welcomed him back in his life with arms wide open. When John thought about it now, he had seen the hurt and devastation in Sherlock's eyes and he had seen the longing, too. And if it had been there when he came back it had probably been there before he had left, too. Had it been there all along?

There was another time, John remembered clearly now. The very seconds before Sherlock had shot Charles Augustus Magnussen. Sherlock had glanced at him and something had shifted in John's chest back then. It had been just as visible then as it had been tonight, but then Sherlock had shot Magnussen and had been taken into custody and there had simply been no opportunity to get to the bottom of things back then.  
And then a couple of days later on the tarmac? Those sad eyes, those pursed lips, hands folded behind his back, Sherlock, of all people, not knowing what to say.  
‘Sherlock is actually a girl's name.’  
The look in Sherlock's eyes when John had laughed about his joke and a second later the longing once more. An outstretched hand instead of a hug as a last goodbye from his best friend.  
Would that have been Sherlock's confession? Had he tried to tell John? Why hadn't he said the words back then? 

John hid his face in both hands.  
How long? How long had Sherlock been in love with him? And why had he never told John? Surely Sherlock must have known? Must have known that John had been in love with him for so long, he didn't even recall when it all started.  
The man who saw through everyone and everything in seconds, the man who could read people like an open book. He must have known.  
And then John remembered. He remembered the numerous times that someone had implied they were a couple and his chest clenched. He could hear his own voice, loud and clear.  
I'm not his date.’  
‘I'm not actually gay.’  
‘We're not a couple.’  
‘Sherlock was not my boyfriend.’  
He had told everyone and everything that he wasn't interested in Sherlock Holmes. And he had made it very clear that the sheer thought was completely absurd. What had he expected? How should Sherlock have known? 

John pushed his hands from his face further back into his hair, fists clenching around the strands until it hurt.  
Sherlock loved him.  
And Sherlock didn't want a life without John, he had just said as much. Despite everything. Or maybe precisely because they've been through so much already?  
Sherlock had never told him so plainly that he wanted him in his life. And John wanted him, too. He didn't want to leave Sherlock, couldn't live without him. He had tried to stay away from Sherlock for weeks now, but all it did to him was that he felt even more miserable. And guilty. Because it should have been Mary he craved. It should have been her he missed. And he did, in a way, but in the end all he had done was imagining her telling him that he needed Sherlock in his life. To receive absolution from her?  
God, how blind had he been? He had imagined his dead wife for the sole purpose of talking about Sherlock. And he had fought against it so hard, but in the end it was worthless because he loved the bloody git and he knew it. He had known all along. And now that he knew that Sherlock loved him back? 

John let loose of his hair, folding his hands on the balustrade in front of him instead. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and another, until his clenched chest loosened a bit and he could at least breathe properly again.  
Sherlock loved him back.  
John's lips started twitching at the corners.  
Sherlock Holmes loved him.  
John's lips twitched upwards until he was smiling so hard it nearly hurt and his chest felt a thousand times lighter. There was a little giggle bubbling out of him and he started chuckling silently, shaking his head in disbelief. They were both such idiots.  
Sherlock fucking Holmes was in love with him and John loved him back.  
John laughed harder until he could hardly breathe, but for a completely different reason. He turned around, leaning his back against the balustrade, trying to calm himself.  
There was a middle aged couple passing by and the man looked at him as if he was a lunatic escaped from his holding cell and John started chuckling again. The man pulled his wife away from John, further down the path but the woman just smiled and nodded and she looked as if she knew.  
As if she knew that Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson. 

And really, what was John even doing here? Sherlock was lying in this goddamn hospital bed, hurt and alone and he must be devastated. He didn't know that John had just realized that they were in love with each other, had probably been for years. Sherlock didn't know that John loved him back. All Sherlock knew was that John had left him. He had left him after Sherlock had shown him his hand.  
John pushed away from the balustrade and started running. Back to the hospital, back to Sherlock. He had no idea where he even was but he kept running as if on autopilot. Down streets he couldn't recall passing, around corners and through back alleys until he finally saw a free cab and hailed it down. 

John sat in the back of the cab, heart pounding in his chest. His left knee was bouncing up and down, both fists clenched on top of his thighs. He needed to go to Sherlock and he needed to tell him that he had seen it, that he knew now and that he loved him, too. 

The cab ride took less than ten minutes but to John it felt like eternity. As soon as they pulled up in front of the hospital John jumped out of the car, tossed a few notes through the open driver's window and rushed through the front door. John ran through the hall and up the staircase, down hallways and around corners until he could see the police man standing watch in front of Sherlock's hospital room.  
John slowed his steps, trying to catch his breath and prepare for what was going to come. He nodded at the cop before he reached for the handle, taking a few seconds to just breathe and calm his racing heart before he pressed the handle down slowly and face the man he loved, only to find the door locked.  
“Why is it locked?” John frowned at the cop.  
“Erm, it shouldn't be,” the man answered and joined John to try and open the door himself, without any success. John pressed his ear to the door and his heart sped up. There were strange noises coming from inside the room and John took a desperate look around. He saw a fire extinguisher in the corner and grabbed it to knock the door open. 

When he entered the room Culverton Smith was bent over Sherlock who was visibly struggling. John rushed forward, pulled Smith away from Sherlock and held him in a death grip.  
“What were you doing to him? What were you DOING?”  
“He's in distress, I'm helping him,” Smith stammered, trying to escape John's grip.  
John shoved him into the arms of the police officer who had entered the room behind him.  
“Restrain him, now, do it.”  
“I was trying to help him,” Smith said desperately.  
Sherlock gasped for air on the bed, his chest heaving violently.  
“Sherlock, what was he doing to you?”  
“Suffocating me.”  
“Suffocating you?”  
“Yes, it's all recorded, together with his confession, you can listen to it later,” Sherlock croaked.  
“Confession?” Smith looked confused. “What confession? I didn't confess anything. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I don't know if this is relevant, but we found three potential recording devices in the pockets of your coat. All your possessions were searched. Sorry,” Smith said with a sheepish expression.  
John looked at Sherlock who looked devastated for a few seconds before his expression changed marginally.  
“Must be something comforting about the number three, people always give up after three.” Sherlock pressed his lips together to hide the grin that was threatening to break through.  
“What? What is it? Wha...” John started and then he saw Sherlock's eyes flicker to the walking cane he had brought to the room earlier that night. He huffed, not believing what Sherlock was implying.  
“Seriously?” John grabbed the cane, shooting Sherlock an irritated look.  
“So, how does it open?”  
“Screw the top,” Sherlock told him with a voice still hoarse from the suffocating.  
John unscrewed the handle to find a little recording device tucked into the stick, red light shining. He looked up at Sherlock, shaking his head in disbelief.  
“Two weeks ago?”  
“Three.”  
John scoffed. “I'm that predictable?”  
Sherlock looked at him with an expression John couldn't quite grasp. There was sadness in his eyes and the corners of his lips twitched downwards, barely noticeable if you didn't know what to look for, but John saw it anyway. Sherlock didn't say a word, instead he lowered his gaze to the blanket in front of him. John turned to the cop that had Culverton Smith in a tight grip.  
“Arrest him, DI Lestrade will be very keen on questioning him.”

John watched the cop lead Smith out of the room and closed the door behind them with a soft click. He turned back to Sherlock and approached him slowly. Sherlock glanced at him sideways, eyes sad, the corners of his lips turned down slightly. John took a deep breath and fixed his eyes somewhere on Sherlock's blanket. Somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't Sherlock's heavyharted gaze. 

“So, erm...,“ John cleared his throat, ”...three weeks ago, seriously?"  
“Yes,” Sherlock whispered.  
John's hands clenched by his sides. His throat felt so tight he could barely breathe but he needed to know.  
”Are you telling me that you knew what would happen tonight?”  
“More or less,” Sherlock murmured.  
“You knew that I would leave you?”  
He heard Sherlock inhale slowly and brought up enough strength to finally meet his eyes, but Sherlock wasn't looking at him anymore. He was staring at the same spot on his blanket that John had stared at, hands clenched together in front of him.  
“I knew that you would have enough of me at some point,” Sherlock said silently and John's chest clenched.  
John took a moment to take him in. He looked terrible, pale and gaunt, stubble on his usually so meticulously clean-shaven face. The week-long drug abuse had obviously taken its toll, but above all else he looked forlorn. John just wanted to pull him against his chest and hold him there until they both felt better.  
“Was that why you finally decided to let me see? Because you thought it was your last chance?”  
Sherlock's head snapped up, eyes wide in astonishment for a split second before he narrowed them, forming that little furrow above his nose John adored so much.  
“Let you see?”  
John quirked one corner of his lips.  
“Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on Sherlock's piercing ones.  
They stared at each other for long seconds and then Sherlock lowered his gaze back to the blanket and his cheeks turned just the slightest shade of pink.  
“I don't know what you're talking about, John.”  
John smiled and stepped right beside him.  
He reached out to slip a hand between Sherlock's clenched ones. Sherlock let loose immediately, so John took his right hand in his own, stroking his thumb lightly over Sherlock's pale skin. John sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling Sherlock's hand into his lap and holding it there in a gentle grip.  
They sat there for a long while, both staring at their joined hands until Sherlock moved his fingers around to press them lightly against the inside of John's wrist. It took John a few seconds to recognize it for what it was. Sherlock was taking his pulse and John couldn't help the little grin on his face. He shifted his fingers, too, so that he could take Sherlock's pulse in return. It was way too fast, although he already knew that because of the heart monitor beeping beside them. 

John looked at Sherlock who was still staring stoically at their joined hands, but John could see his brain working on full speed.  
“I'm going to make a deduction,” John said softly and that made Sherlock finally look up, giving John a chance to see his eyes. What he saw there made his heart jump a little.  
“And if my deduction is right, you're gonna be honest and tell me.”  
“Okay,” Sherlock said quietly, mustering John with such intense that he almost lost his nerves. John cleared his throat and swallowed, tightening the grip around Sherlock's hand.  
“Your pulse is elevated..., your pupils are dilated..., breathing flat and ragged...”  
“Of course,” Sherlock interrupted him, “I've just been suffocated, I'm malnourished, have double kidney failure and I've been off my tits for weeks, what did you expect.”  
That almost destroyed every bit of John's courage if he hadn't seen the panic in Sherlock's eyes and if he hadn't felt Sherlock's pulse skyrocketing when John had started his deduction. John placed his other hand on top of Sherlock's, held it tight between both of his and decided to change tactics, because Sherlock had been brave enough already, it was time for John to be the brave one. He looked into Sherlock's beautiful eyes once more and that gave him all the courage he needed.  
“I love you, too,” John said softly.  
John felt his own pulse skyrocketing and Sherlock's fingers started trembling against his wrist. Sherlock's expression was completely baffled, lips slightly parted. It took him a full minute to snap his mouth shut before he glanced down at their hands briefly and eventually started speaking.  
“That's... not a deduction.” Sherlock's voice sounded hoarse.  
“No,” John laughed, “I've fucked up, haven't I?”  
He smiled at Sherlock and Sherlock's lips started twitching upwards at the corners.  
“So... I can't tell you if you're right or wrong,” Sherlock continued, smiling, too, now.  
“Well, you're the great Sherlock Holmes, I bet you could, if you wanted,” John grinned back.  
“Or..., I could give you another try for that deduction you wanted to make.”  
Sherlock looked at him shyly, but his eyes were sparkling. John's smile grew wider.  
“Okay,” he whispered, “I'l try again.”  
He wiped the smile off his face, cleared his throat and got into doctor mode, showing an earnest expression. John turned Sherlock's hand around and openly took his pulse now.  
“Pulse elevated.”  
“The heart monitor could have told you that already,” Sherlock interrupted.  
John ignored him, placed his left hand carefully against Sherlock's stubbly cheek and tilted his head upwards a little, so that he could get a better look at Sherlock's eyes.  
“Pupils dilated.”  
“It's quite dark in here.” Sherlock tried for nonchalance but the little hitch in his breathing when John had touched his cheek betrayed him. John hummed and continued his examination, placing his other hand on Sherlock's stomach to check his breathing.  
“Breathing shallow and ragged.”  
“I've just been suffocated.”  
John looked up into Sherlock's eyes with a sober expression.  
“That's one explanation for some of the facts,” John told him in a serious tone.  
“What do you reckon then, doctor?” Sherlock asked.  
“Serious case of being completely and utterly in love with someone in your immediate vicinity.”  
Sherlock nodded, pursing his lips in an endearing manner.  
“Well, that's only half a deduction. A good detective would be able to tell me with whom,” Sherlock said, dead earnest.  
“I have a better idea,” John couldn't hold back the grin any longer.  
“Oh? What's that then.”  
“I'm going to kiss you and see what happens.”  
“Courageous.”  
“Have you forgotten? I was a soldier.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed.  
“You were a doctor, John.”  
“Shut up,” John murmured and leaned forward slowly, so very slowly until their noses were almost touching. Sherlock's pupils had grown huge, so that his stunning eyes looked almost black now.  
“Can I?” John whispered against Sherlock's lips.  
“Yes.”  
John closed that last little gap between them and brushed their lips together, not missing the little gasp that escaped Sherlock's throat. Sherlock's lips felt warm and a little chapped and so soft against his own. John moved his mouth slowly against Sherlock's until he felt a hand slipping around the back of his neck, drawing him closer.  
Sherlock opened his mouth a little and John licked carefully inside until their tongues were touching for the very first time and there was a soft moan in the air and then another and John leaned even closer until he could feel Sherlock's body warm under his chest. Sherlock's heart monitor was beeping frantically beside them and John's lips split into a wide grin, making it nearly impossible to kiss for a little while, until Sherlock claimed back his mouth with a passionate kiss.  
John eventually broke the kiss, drawing back slowly to look into Sherlock's beautiful bright eyes. John's eyes wandered upwards, lingering at the cut on his eyebrow and then down over the swelling at his cheekbone and John's heart grew heavy in his chest. He had done this to Sherlock, he had hurt him so bad. John took a shaky breath and reached out carefully, to trace his fingertips gently over Sherlock's swollen skin and there were tears prickling behind his eyes again. John looked back up into Sherlock's eyes and found him watching intently.  
“Forgive me, Sherlock,” John choked and closed his eyes in shame. He was breathing hard through his nose, trying desperately to hold back the tears when he felt both of Sherlock's warm hands cradling his head as if it was something precious.  
“John.” Sherlock's voice was warm and reassuring.  
John opened his eyes when he felt Sherlock's thumbs stroking his cheeks softly. Sherlock looked him in the eyes and his expression was so full of affection that John's heart missed a beat.  
“Please, forgive me,” John whispered, eyes wet.  
Sherlock smiled at him with soft eyes.  
“I already have, John.”  
And with that Sherlock leaned forward to claim another kiss and another and another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for every single comment and the kudos on that first chapter! xx
> 
> I'm sorry for all the heartache I've put you through, but I hope it was worth it. If so, kudos and/or a comment is all the encouragement I need to keep writing. 
> 
> Oh, and apologies to the taxi driver who gets his fare tossed through the open window. Again.


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